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sorry, Margot. I didn’t realize.
Brendan sent a thumbs-up.
Linda never replied, which was a gift.
My mother called that night, furious. Not because I had been wrong, but because I had corrected the narrative publicly enough to ruin the comfort of her version.
“You embarrassed your sister,” she said.
“She lied about me.”
“She was upset.”
“So was I.”
A sharp continue reading …
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